


The Unsavory Urologist

by azurelunatic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animal Harm, Asexual Sherlock, Bees, Body Horror, Brits written by an American, Drug Use, For Science!, Human Sherlock, Humor, I know too much about actual bee dick, Insects, Nudity, Other, Sherlock is the Outliers Georg of foolish ace sex-adjacent stunts, Watson has nothing against asexuality, blackmailable pictures, but have different levels of impulse control, cocaine is a hell of a drug, did you know that bees have peens, entirely too many penis euphemisms, even Watson has limits, hail Sarah who really is a secret genius but is otherwise uninvolved with this fic, human Watson, human dicks and real bees, intellectual disability slurs, justified kink-shaming, mental health slurs, metaphorical bee dick, most asexuals don't wind up in A&E for sex-adjacent stunts, my beta is an internationally recognized expert on ass-babies, my beta thought this fic was a good idea, no actual bees were harmed either, no affiliation with the actual Doc Johnson, no omegaverse characters were harmed in the making of this fic, not actually britpicked, sober Sherlock and high Sherlock agree in a lot of things, texual memes and other references, unwise life choices, veteran character written by civilian from another country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurelunatic/pseuds/azurelunatic
Summary: A "doctor" with controversial, bee-related, health claims has been found dead. Sherlock tries science. Watson is not here for this.(Please see tags.)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Bees
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	The Unsavory Urologist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sithjawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithjawa/gifts).



> My morail asked for a birthday fic with Sherlock/bees. Be(e) careful what you ask for. ♦️♦️♦️

Dr. John Watson had never imagined a lot of the things he would experience at the side of Sherlock Holmes, the English-speaking world's only consulting detective. He had learned to adjust. But coming home to this took the absolute cake.

"Sherlock?" he asked as calmly as he could manage, which was slightly below his third-best battlefield bellow. "What in the, and I cannot emphasize this enough, FUCK, are you doing with that wasp."

Sherlock started, and both the hand holding the magnifying glass and the hand holding the wasp jolted. "Any idiot can tell a bee from a wasp, Watson. Except apparently you." He looked up. "Fetch me another bee. I've ruined this one. Your fault."

Some habits die hard. Watson realized that some part of him had accepted Sherlock Holmes as his chain of command, at least when Sherlock was at his demanding, commanding best. He took in the room in search of the bees before the rest of his brain caught up with him. The rest of his brain was about to stage a mutiny, but realized that the best way to get information out of a focused Sherlock Holmes was to cooperate, rather than stage a direct confrontation. Numbly, Watson held the jar of lightly smoked bees up to Sherlock's padded tweezers. The flat was only slightly more of a wreck than usual. The exception being all the bee paraphernalia. 

Sherlock plucked out another bee and held it up to the side of his erect cock. "Yow!" he exclaimed as the bee obligingly stung him square in the pulsing ramrod.

"What." Watson asked. He focused in and swept his gaze over Sherlock. Cross-legged in the middle of the room. Dilated pupils. Remnants of a nosebleed and scattered tissues. Jittery movements, witness the poor crushed bee. (That bee deserved better. They all deserved better.) Stark bloody naked. The remnants of a white powder and a little baggie were merely confirmation. 

"It's possible that the purported aphrodisiac properties only work on the allosexual," Sherlock said. "Watson, I need you." He reached for John's flies, but not before Watson danced out of range.

"WHAT." Cocaine was a hell of a drug.

"Obviously, I can't possibly understand whether Dr. Johnson of Doc Johnson's Organic All Natural Male Enhancement Studio was a secret genius or a madman without attempting to replicate his claims," Sherlock explained patiently. "Do try to keep up."

"Ask this Johnson person, then," Watson said, ducking a second grab from Sherlock.

"Can't," Sherlock said. "Dead." He frowned at the almost neat row of purpling lumps on his spam dagger. "I'm starting to suspect that Dr. Johnson was not a secret genius."

Watson stared, in doctor.

"They found him with seven and a half bees stuffed up his urethra," Sherlock elaborated. "Exact cause of death still unknown. The question remains: was it misadventure or ... murder?"

At last, some familiar ground. "I've worked night shift in an A&E," Watson said. "Honestly, it could be either. You wouldn't believe what some sick fucks do for fun."

The lumps on Sherlock's dick might have swollen a little more in the past 30 seconds. John wasn't trying to stare, but it was a fucking train wreck.

"Or what fucking morons otherwise sane people can turn into when sex gets involved. Aces not excepted." Oh God. Was he going to have to drag his high as balls flatmate to A&E, again? Could he live it down if he did? What were the chances that Sherlock would go into anaphylactic shock if he pretended he hadn't seen any of this? Did he need to text a photo to Mycroft?

Sherlock gestured expansively with his bee hand again.

"I synthesized the online reviews and they are composed of 29% angry men who feel they were painfully ripped off, 42% men who were completely satisfied with their all-natural sexual enhancement treatment, 10% ambivalent, and 19% obvious trolling," Sherlock said. "One of crucial factors in sorting mere placebos from potentially viable treatments when performing scientific review of traditional natural remedies is the presence of adverse side effects. Dr. Johnson has a range of response that suggests legitimacy. Yet several patent databases contain nothing. Plenty of Johnsons, no E. Normus." He frowned.

"That can't be his actual name." Watson felt he was on firmer ground. "It's a todger pun, Sherlock. Don't tell me you never saw the novelty shirts in the late 80s."

Sherlock grimaced, and another bee was lost.

Watson debated stepping in and taking away all the bees, but that would mean putting his meat and two veg within reaching distance of a coked-up, bee-crazed Sherlock, and honestly there was no good that could come of creating additional victims. He took a picture instead.

Another thought occurred to him. "Why are you experimenting on yourself, anyway? I'm sure someone at the Blue Door with more masochism than sense would be up for chemical CBT."

"Can't. Banned."

"Murder Mile Studio?"

Sherlock shook his head.

John named a few more local sex dungeons with the same results. Apparently Sherlock had been a naughty little boy, not in the kinky funtimes way, but the way that got you a blanket lifetime ban from all the reputable houses of ill repute, as well as the London Zoo. (Apparently tequila and cobras didn't mix. Lestrade had not been amused.) Sherlock Holmes was an official menace.

John wasn't sure what he'd done, besides not immediately screaming and fleeing, or forcibly removing Sherlock from the premises, to convince Sherlock that it was okay to be doing science with dick out. Sure, John had been in the army, but this transcended even that level of visible weiner. Sherlock was only one man but he had the obnoxiousness of an entire platoon. 

John sidestepped around the flat, continuing to evade Sherlock while winkling out the details of the case and snapping the occasional picture on his mobile, because honestly who could resist. He did, however, manage to keep from sending anything he might regret after Sherlock was sober. The picture of the jar of bees, which he texted to Lestrade accompanied by a string of question marks, was merely human of him.

Lestrade texted back in under a minute.

Lestrade: Oh, right, the bee todger case

John cringed.

Lestrade: Yeah, your daft flatmate was staring so hard at the bees he missed the bloody great chunk bashed out of the guy's head. CCTV has one of the clients walking away bloodstained.

Watson: ID on the guy?

Lestrade: Done. We picked him up down at his local pub. 

Watson: Well done. Motive? 

Lestrade: It was just the damnedest little operation. Johnson had his clients snort rhino horn powder and injected their dicks with bee venom. This client took exception and it got out of hand.

Watson: Bee venom. 

Lestrade: If your flatmate could return the rhino horn powder so we can run analysis on it I'd be much obliged

Watson: You're welcome to whatever is left. Afraid Sherlock has been doing his own analysis.

Lestrade: Found anything interesting?

Watson: He's high as a kite and putting bees on his dick so I feel confident that whatever is actually in that bag it's got nothing to do with rhinos. Please come around with your least flappable men. 

Sherlock picked up another bee in the padded tweezers and re-aimed his magnifying glass. The drowsy hum from the jar had started to turn ominous. Sherlock failed to apply more smoke. 

"I'll just..." Watson gestured vaguely "...be in there, then." He retreated to his bedroom. The door shut firmly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Many of the obvious troll reviews were absolutely accurate.
> 
> The reason Sherlock was still erect despite the bees was the powder, which contained among other things Viagra, Cialis, cocaine, shrimp dust, and menthol, all illegally imported.


End file.
